Atonement
by theflockroxmysox
Summary: "Oh, no. You'll do it. You want to know why? Because I can always find someone else for the job," he moved his gun hand up so that it was resting against Eliot's throat. "You will agree to this job, or I will put a bullet in you, right here, right now."
1. Threats

**So, I really have no idea where this came from, but I really liked the idea, so I had to share it with you guys! **

**Sorry it's so short, I was planning to make it longer but then I got to the current ending and was like "This would be a great ending!" lol so yeah, here it is.**

**Disclaimer: Well, let's see. Did Hardison and Parker finally confess their love for each other in the third season? Did we learn Sophie's real name? Did we learning anything about Eliot or Sophie's past? If the answer to these is "no", then I do not own Leverage.**

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**Chapter One**

**Threats**

Eliot flexed his muscles and stretched, extending his long arms out behind him and cracking his neck one on each side. This was what he always did at the end of a long work-out session in the gym, it helped quiet the slow aches that seemed to always return to his arms afterwards, a faint reminder of his past.

He stood up, the machine that he had been sitting on creaking slightly as pressure was lifted off of it. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he reached down for a drink, he noted that several locks of his hair had escaped from his ponytail sometime during his workout, and he reached up to tie them back again, then gave up and just let his hair fall down, slightly brushing his shoulders.

There was only one other person in the gym, and he was still busy lifting 100-pound weights. He took no notice as Eliot made his way to the front of the gym, nodded at the clerk behind the high-rise desk, and left, the revolving door spinning after him.

Eliot was met by cool evening air. Goosebumps rose on his bare arms, and he wished he had thought to bring a jacket. Scanning the streets to the sides and in front of him, his eyes lingered for a moment on a couple on the opposite side of the street, the only other human beings out this late. He watched as they stopped in front of a store and tilted their heads toward each other, and decided they were not a threat.

His feet made nearly no noise on the smooth concrete as he jogged down the sidewalk, his pace even. He lived just two blocks away, and jogged to the gym every day; even though most people could argue that he could never exercise again and still stay fit. Maybe, but it was a risk, and Eliot didn't leave anything to chance.

Which was why he thought it was strange when his footsteps suddenly became louder, echoing through the street. He glanced subtly behind him, but his gaze was met with an empty sidewalk. Even the couple had disappeared, no doubt to someplace more secluded. Brow furrowed, he turned and started jogging again, his arms swaying slightly with rhythmic motion. Several beats of silence were broken by the sudden footsteps again, in time with his but much louder. Eliot stopped again, suddenly. A single footstep followed and was silenced. Eliot whirled around, fists up, only to be met, once again, with an empty street.

His mind still processing the information, he barely heard the click. He spun on the balls of his feet, his hair flying out to the sides as he turned back to the front – and was met by the barrel of a gun.

His first instinct was to panic, but years of experience allowed him to quell that feeling immediately. His hand shot up at lightning speed, preparing to grab the gun, when he heard another, very familiar voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Eliot swore softly and turned around slowly, carefully placing his feet in the best position to flee. Another gun was aimed at him from behind, and he stared at the barrel, quickly calculating possible scenarios in his mind.

A mocking laugh forced him to glance upwards, into none-to-friendly and way-too-familiar shining obsidian eyes.

"Hello, _Eliot_. Been a while," the voice that spoke was gruff and gravelly from years of smoking. It carried a bass undertone that sounded somewhat forced, as though the man was trying to conceal the sound of his real voice.

_How'd he find out my new alias?_ Eliot wondered in shock as he studied the man's face. It was a box shape, with grizzled cheeks and black sideburns. The remainders of a beard recently shaved still clung to his face, sharp and uneven. There was a single silver ring in his left ear, although it was so grimy by now that the color could hardly be distinguished. The last time Eliot had seen it, it had been brand new and flashing, the skin around it still a bright red.

Eliot grimaced, letting out a low chuckle as he stared at his old boss. "Yeah, well it hasn't been nearly long enough."

His boss chuckled. "Well, I know you've never been one for idle chit-chat, so I'll get straight to the point. My friends Frankie behind you? He'll put a bullet through your back if you try to run," the hard tip of a gun was shoved into Eliot's back, as if he hadn't needed further proof.

"Are you enjoying this, Torak?" Eliot growled, gritting his teeth frustratedly. He could get rid of one gunman, but two at the same time? In such close vicinity? Out of the question. Especially when one of them was his old boss.

Torak ignored him. "You're probably wondering why, after all these years, I've decided to come after you. You see, a long-time client of mine recently came to me. He runs an appliance store." Torak paused to watch Eliot's reaction; a slight widening of the eyelids. "He was very upset when he showed up at my doorstep. Yes, he was in quite a state. Kept yammering about the two million dollars that he had been scammed out of, and that the police were right on his tail. So I provided him with an alias, the way I normally do for our higher-up customers-"

"_Your_ customers. I don't work for you anymore," Eliot spat, using anger to hide his deeper emotions.

"Anywho," Torak brushed aside his comment. "I also promised to get his money back for him, if he shared the profits, of course." Eliot saw where this was going, and began to shake his head. "But, oh no, that wasn't good enough for him. He wanted _revenge_,"Torak's eyes were glittering as he leaned closer to Eliot, gun still planted firmly in his abdomen. "Revenge on Nathan Ford."

Eliot swallowed a string of cusses as he stared what he hoped was placidly back at Torak. "And where do I fit into all of this?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know. I know you work for Ford, Eliot. I know you have access to his apartment, his life, his mind. And, you also happen to still be the best retrieval specialist in the business," he let his sentence hang, letting Eliot guess what he had in mind.

"No," Eliot stated. "I won't. I don't work for you anymore."

Eliot waited for the guttural noise that always accompanied his angry moods, but was surprised to hear laughter. "Oh, no. You'll do it. And you want to know why you'll do it? Because I can always find someone else for the job," he moved his gun hand up so that it was resting against Eliot's throat. "You will agree to this job, or I will put a bullet in you, right here, right now."

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**Heyyy, guess whaa-aat?**

**That little button right down there, yeah, that one, is lonely. It needs friends to make it happy, and all you have to do to become its friend is submit a review. Whoever reviews first gets the next chapter dedicated to them, even if you only said "asdasfsaofhihih". **


	2. Deception

**So, you guys _would_ have gotten two chapters tonight, but my dentist decided he needed two hours to look at my teeth. :p **

**This chapter is dedicated to themindofmine for the first review! Thank you so much!  
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**Chapter Two**

**Deception**

The door slammed firmly shut after Nate, and Eliot winced slightly. He covered it by running his hand through his brown hair and provoking a scoff from Hardison, who had planted himself in the La-Z-Boy and was running some complicated analysis on the screen.

"What?" Eliot growled, his handing falling to his side. He was in even less of a mood than normal to be teased, especially not by some bossy, idiotic geek.

"Only girls play with their hair," Hardison flashed one of his annoying smirks, shrugging his shoulder innocently. The plaid scarf that he had worn when he had posed as a DJ slipped off of his neck and landed in a coil in his lap.

"Yeah, and only girls wear scarves," Eliot muttered as Hardison scrambled to reposition the scarf.

"What-" Hardison stammered. "Men wear scarves. 'Course they wear scarves. You ever seen those mannequins at the store? They wear scarves all the time. Oh, wait, of _course _you haven't. Because you haven't-"

"Mannequins aren't men, Hardison," Eliot took a sip from his beer to calm himself.

"Guys, stop it!" Parker scolded. "Can't we just all get along until Nate gets back? And Hardison, aren't you supposed to be finding information about our client?"

"Geez, when did you become so bossy?" Eliot muttered, more to himself, as he downed the last of his beer and slammed the bottle on the granite counter with more force than necessary.

Nate had gone down to the bar on the floor below with Sophie to meet their newest client. He'd made Hardison and Eliot promise not to touch his things. He didn't even bother with Parker, who wouldn't have listened if he did.

Eliot allowed his thoughts to drift away from the argument. He wasn't exactly sure why the sudden visit from Torak had surprised him; he'd had a feeling it would happen one day. Once you were in Torak's business, you were in for life. The only way to get out was to die. You didn't simply run away, as Eliot had done. Not because of the chance that Torak would find and kill you, but because of the chance that he would find you and demand you do another job for him.

The movement of a cab across the street caught Eliot's eye. He rushed to close the window, slamming the curtains to the side with such ferocity that Hardison glanced up, confused. It took a lot to distract Hardison from his computer reverie once he got started. Eliot's steely glare, however, was enough to tempt him right back into it.

Parker, however, was a different story.

"What's gotten into you today?" She asked, her head tilted slightly to the side. Eliot was reminded of a dog he had once had as a child, a black lab named Clue.

"Nothing, alright?" Eliot's reply was terse, some of his hidden anxiety leaking out. He pushed past Parker and went to stand at the paneled oak door. "What's taking Nate so long?"

Hardison looked up again. "Chill, dude. He's probably grabbing a drink with Sophie."

"Yeah, I mean, it's no secret they like each other," Parker interjected, looking up innocently from the lock she was halfway through picking.

"Parker," Eliot growled, not wanting the guilt-filled reminder.

"Seriously, I'm surprised they haven't started dating yet."

"Parker!"

"What?" She shrugged, looking confused and annoyed. The door clicked open with a snap, and Parker's face fell. "Drat, just a closet." She slammed the door shut.

Eliot shook his head slightly, hair pricking his eyes as it fell into his unshaven face. "Hardison, you found out anything about our client yet?" The words rolled off his tongue as if they had been rehearsed.

"Not much, actually. I can't find him on any social networking sites, which is strange, because everybody has those, heck, my great-grandmama had one of those!"

"Wow, really? That's so weird! Now tell me what else you found," Eliot's voice was brimming with sarcasm that he didn't quite feel.

Hardison looked up from the computer screen to glare at Eliot, his forehead wrinkling slightly in perturbed annoyance. "Why you gotta be so mean all the time?"

"That would be because he's Eliot," The sound of Nate's voice turned all of their heads' towards the door. The door was open, and Nate was standing on the threshold, his feet spread apart slightly in a subtle and reflexive defensive position. His normally tousled hair was strangely under control, flattened down against his head and shining as though it had been recently rained upon. His black trench coat was decorated with randomly placed wrinkles. Behind him, Sophie Deveroux was glaring full force at the back of his head.

-O-

The following day was nothing short of a downpour, and a heavy one at that. Eliot walked up the front steps to McRoy's pub with a sense of dread and guilt heavier than the rain, and an anger at himself for being so weak. He lingered for a moment at the door, taking in his reflection in the plated glass. His hair hung down in heavy, darkened locks that looked like miniature ropes. Dark circles plagued his eyes, unusual even after sleeping only 90 minutes a day. His black leather motorcycle jacket…

Had a hand resting on it.

Before he could react, he was ripped away from the pub into a side alley, two hands shoving him up against a moldy brick wall with nearly as much force as Eliot himself was capable of. Eliot swore and squinted through the rain at his attacker. All he could see were bulging muscles and an oval-shaped head with cropped black hair.

The same gargantuan hands closed around his throat with such force Eliot's neck almost immediately went numb. He swore, or tried to, and lashed out with his foot. His boot connected with solid flesh and the man grunted, his grip loosening ever so slightly. Eliot retracted his foot before he fell off balance, and his hand shot up to grab the man's arm. Gasping for air that wasn't there, he used every ounce of his strength to squeeze down on his attacker's forearm. The attacker swore and his hands dropped.

Eliot staggered forward, his knees nearly giving way under him. Shaking slightly, he gasped in air, his mouth parting somewhat. His assailant let out a roar and swung his fist, nearly missing Eliot's skull as the hitter dodged to the side and planted a roundabout kick in the other man's abdomen. He doubled over, and Eliot slammed his fist on his back… or where his back had been two seconds ago.

The assailant had moved, rapidly to be able to avoid Eliot's counterattack, and was now positioned to Eliot's right. His fist was already slamming into Eliot's face before Eliot had even begun to bring his arm up to block the blow. There was a sick, abnormally loud crunching sound, and blood began to pour out of Eliot's nose. Swearing, Eliot grabbed the aggressor's retreating arm and flipped him onto his back. His head landed with a final, sharp crack on the concrete.

Taking a moment to regain his balance, Eliot flicked the clumps of drenched hair out of his face with a single, spasmodic motion. He reached a grimy hand up to wipe the excess blood from his face, his breathing heavy and ragged. Staring spitefully at the unconscious man for a moment, he limped over and grabbed his wrist. Glancing farther down the alley, he spotted a dumster. It had presumably once been green, but was now caked with so much dirt and filth that any color other than brown was undistinguishable.

Eliot flexed his arm muscles, getting ready to hoist the man into the dumpster, when a flash of muted white caught his eye. He knelt down, slipping a small, half-sheet of crumpled paper out of the man's pocket. Gaze darting around warily as he unrolled the paper, he was almost reluctant to read the words that lay there, scrawled in messy, smudged and bolded print.

'Consider this a warning. Finish the job, or I'll finish you.'

Uttering a string of cusses, he ripped the paper and let it fall to the ground, stomping on it once with his booted foot for effect. Deciding to leave the man lying there on the ground, he marched off to McRoy's pub, rain puddles splashing to his waist. But, he stopped just short of turning the corner out of the alley. He stood for a moment, a shadowy figure outline by the dim light of the lamp on the main street. Slowly, he curled his hands into fists and stepped back until his back hit the wall. Slowly, he slumped down, sinking to his knees on the wet concrete. His normal iron-willed façade disintegrated, diffusing into the air as he bowed his head.

When had his life become so hard? He used to find joy in it, in the physical fight. It was so simple, then. Just do the job, take your money, and disappear until the next job arose. None of the betrayal and deception crap. No feeling of darkness growing roots in your soul.

-O-

"What happened to you?" Parker inquired none too politely as Eliot stamped over the threshold. The rest of the team took in his appearance; sopping clothes, leather jacket most likely ruined, and completely spattered with blood. His face was a mess of blood and sweat, his nose sitting at a slightly crooked angle. His lip was split in three places, and a trickle of blood still flowed out of his mouth. Not to mention the already ripening, ghastly purple bruises around his neck.

Eliot took off his jacket. "Run it, Hardison," his voice was gravelly and fused with a warning tone.

"But-"

"Just. Run. It."

Nate squinted his eyes at Eliot, then turned and gave a slight nod to Hardison. Eliot limped over to the fridge and rummaged through for an ice pack, diverting his gaze from everyone's prying eyes, while Hardison began the presentation

"Charles Schulz, the third," Hardison gestured toward the screen, neck twitching slightly as he tried to avoid staring at Eliot again. On the giant screen was a picture of a man in his late thirties, wearing a tan polo and holding a wine glass up in a friendly gesture. His wide smile and flashing green eyes, offset with purposely tousled brown hair, completed the look of a genuinely honest person.

"Don't let his looks fool you," Hardison continued, fully caught up in his presentation now. "He runs a worldwide successful grocery chain."

"Grocery chain? How is that evil?" Parker wrinkled her nose in confusion, and Eliot groaned inwardly, coming over to stand behind the burgundy couch.

"I'm getting there, just-just let me do my thing," Hardison protested, waving the remote. "Anyway, as I was saying," he cast a pointed look at Parker. "he owns a grocery chain called 'Schulz Grocers'-"

"How original," Sophie muttered, looking away in disdain.

"Ok, are ya all done with the interruptions, here? Can I continue?" He waited, but there was only silence. "Thank you. So, before he was owner of Schulz Grocers, he worked for a clothing store." Several images flashed up on the screen. "A year after he started working there, he was charged with fraud, and forced to quit. A year later, the clothing store went out of business.

"Now," he looked at Parker. "Our client, Robert Yates, has a brother that worked for Schulz Grocers as a trucker, delivering loads of groceries to stores all around the area. Last month, the brakes of the truck he was driving broke, and he crashed into the highway guardrail, which, luckily, stopped him from rolling down the hill. However, the entire front of the truck was smashed in, and Robert's brother, Paul, suffered a concussion, broken femur, and two broken ribs. But that's not the problem.

"Paul's other leg was completely crushed in the accident, and had to be amputated. Paul won't ever be able to walk again, unless he pays for a prosthetic leg. Which he can't afford, because the grocery company had enough lawyer friends to stay out of court, and…" he trailed off, glancing warily at Nate.

Nate crossed his arms, a grim look on his face. "And the insurance company denied his claim."

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**A/N: Disclaimer: I'm really tired right now, so let's just leave it at I don't own Leverage, k?**

**This chapter is dedicated to themindofmine for being my first reviewer of this story, thank you so much! :) I hope you keep reviewing! ;) And thanks to all my other reviewers and favoriters! (is that even a word? i doubt it ;) )**

**This chapter was inspired by Airplanes by B.O.B, and you can tell especially in the paragraph where Eliot has just defeated his attacker.  
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**Btw, if you didn't see it the first time, that was a hint that you should review too.**


	3. Fear

**Wow, I think this is the fastest I've ever updated! I've figured that this story will probably be around seven chapters longs, but I'm already working on plans for my next story, so you won't be disappointed for long :).**

**Oh, and I forgot to mention this last chapter, but I owe a HUGE thanks to my friend Amy who helped me figure out the best words to use/grammar/etc. Thank you!**

**This chapter is dedicated to TheNaggingCube. :)  
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**Disclaimer: Parker has not once asked for pretzels since that one episode at the beginning of the third season. Therefore I do not own Leverage.  
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**Chapter Three**

**Fear**

The room was suddenly silent. Everyone was glancing at Nate as if they were afraid to be caught staring. A brief flash of emotion scrolled across his face before he regained his closed off and guarded expression. For a moment Eliot felt even worse, to have caused that emotion, but he quickly shoved it from his mind and swallowed, focusing instead on Sophie's voice.

"Nate, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do. Hardison continue," he gestured to the screen with his hand impatiently.

Hardison paused, uncertainty spreading across his face as he glanced at Sophie.

"Hardison…" Nate's voice took on a warning tone.

"Nate," Sophie's voice was sympathetic, and if there was one thing Nate hated, it was sympathy.

"Hardison, run it," he ignored Sophie, glaring at Hardison from his position on the sofa.

"Okay, alright, no need to be pushy," Hardison threw his hands up defensively, winning a smile from Parker. "Now this Schulz guy, he's withdrawn three hundred dollars in the past two months… for psychic readings. Huh, seems this guy has a future fetish. Get it? A future fetish!" When nobody laughed, he frowned and continued. "And… he filed a divorce last year."

Nate looked at Sophie. "You ready to brush up on your psychic skills?"

-O-

McRory's pub was emptying. People left in a slow, halting stream for apartments, hotels, and beds. Eliot watched them go, his face betraying none of his inner thoughts. He wondered, though, what it would be like to be one of them, an average person living a normal life. Get up, drink coffee in excess in attempts to kill the hangover, go to work at a normal job, come home to a happy little family. No need to worry about ex-spies turned criminal, or watch your life hang in the balance. No need to make the hard choice between saving your life and betraying the people closest to you, or saving the people closest to you and sacrificing yourself.

Eliot knew everybody thought of him as completely selfless, always putting himself between the man and the bullet, always completely unafraid of anything. Everybody thought he would be willing to sacrifice his life for another without a second thought. They didn't say it, but he could see it written on their faces whenever they looked at him. They trusted him, not knowing his deepest secrets. They trusted him, not knowing anything of his past, of the things he had done.

What they didn't know was that he _was_ afraid. Afraid of dying. Afraid of losing control. 'Everybody is born to die', that's what they say. He knew it was true, but even still… he didn't want to die. When he was in combat, instinct, adrenaline, and years of training took over. He _knew_ he could win, as long as he was in control. He had no fear then, only the slight rush that accompanied certain victory. In a way, they were right. He would put himself between the man and the bullet, but only if he was certain he could stop it. That he would come out unscathed. Now, he wasn't so sure. Torak had complete control of the situation, and would kill Eliot if the job was not completed. Eliot didn't want to die.

The back door to the pub opened, and Parker walked out. She was dressed in all black, her hair swept up into a lazy ponytail. She strode with purpose toward the front of the pub, but turned and frowned when she saw Eliot. Eliot kept his back toward her, praying that she would just walk out and leave him alone.

Of course, he had no such luck.

She sat in the empty barstool next to him. He continued to ignore her.

"Hey!" she flagged down a bartender. "Can I get some pretzels?"

The bartender nodded and walked away. Parker turned to Eliot. He studied the intricate design on the bottom rim of the beer bottle he was clutching. She sighed, and grabbed the ice pack tied loosely to his arm.

"Parker, give it back," Eliot growled, reluctantly acknowledging her presence.

"You don't need it," Parker teased, punching the spot where his ice pack had been.

"Dammit, Parker!" Eliot hissed, reaching up to clutch his arm. "That hurt!"

"Hm… what about this?" she reached up and grabbed his nose.

"Parker!" he slapped her hand away, and his other hand went to his nose. It came away bloody. "You see what you did? You see?" he grabbed a napkin and held it to his nose.

Parker made a face. "Ooh, sorry."

Eliot studiously ignored her.

"So, what happened to you today?" Parker asked casually. She grabbed his beer and took a long swig, swishing it around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing loudly.

"Parker!" Eliot grabbed his beer. He opened his mouth to add more, but a brown leather jacket in the corner of the pub caught his attention. "Dammit!" He looked around the pub, there were only five other people still lingering, probably not wanting to return to their lives.

"What?" Parker looked at him funny, but then she looked at everybody that way. Eliot stared at the glossy, glass-covered counter, making sure to keep his gaze averted from the man with the oval-shaped head. He couldn't be there to attack him again, or he would have made his move by now. He must just be keeping tabs. _I don't need a frikkin' babysitter,_ Eliot thought, annoyed.

"Go steal that guy's wallet," Eliot nodded subtly at the man.

"Why?"

"Just go!" Eliot practically shoved her away.

"Okay, fine!"

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Parker sauntered over and slid into the booth next to him. He looked confused for a moment, but broke into a grin at something she said. It pleased Eliot to see that he had a front tooth missing, and he stopped just short of clutching his stomach when he laughed. Parker flashed a wide smile, but Eliot could see her hands shaking slightly, and suddenly he prayed that there weren't any forks on the table. At least there was no second story balcony to jump off of.

Parker stood up, gave him one last smile, and walked back over to Eliot. Strutted, Eliot thought, would have been more appropriate. She palmed the wallet to him as she sat back down, nonchalantly grabbing a pretzel with her other hand.

Eliot looked down at what she had given him. It was a plain brown wallet, with several crisp dollar bills tucked neatly into one of the folds. There was a driver's liscense for a Mr. "Fred Jersey", but Eliot doubted that it was his real name. Chuckling to himself, he turned around and made eye contact with the man. Waving the wallet, he grinned at Fred's infuriated expression. Eliot shrugged innocently at the same time that Parker asked, "What's a freak?"

Eliot choked on his beer.

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**Yes, I know it seemed like I put some Eliot/Parker in here, but I didn't! They were just being friends! Eeek don't hate me... unless you're a Eliot/Parker shipper, in which case, yes, yes I did mean to put that in there...**

**Anyway did you see how I slipped in that thing about pretzels? That was my favorite scene of the whole season, so cute! Well, that and the one when Hardison says "You better tell me something or I swear on my mama I will spiderman out the side of your building! Tell me something!" :D**

**Did anybody else find that the third season kind of went downhill after the Three Card Monte Job? It's like they forgot what Leverage was actually about. I mean, the Rashomon Job? What the heck was that?**

**One final thing before I give you five reasons why you should review: If you're a fan of Lie To Me, Human Target, The Good Guys, Rizzoli & Isles, Merlin, or Robin Hood (even though its not on anymore :( ) feel free to PM me.**

**Five reasons why you should review:**

**1. It makes the author happy and possibly update quicker.**

**2. The author will take the time to reply back to your review.**

**3. The author will have something to look forward to reading after school.**

**4. The author wants proof that even though she just sneezed, she is not allergic to cats.**

**5. If you don't review, Eliot will find you. If you do review, Eliot will find you.  
**


	4. What the Future Holds

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**Leverage Quote of the Day: "I stole the Hope Diamond. And then I put it back. Yeah. Because I was bored." ~ Parker**

**OK, am I the only one that thinks Frankie from Rizzoli and Isles is positively adorable!**

**Disclaimer: I think Hardison should have a ferret. But he doesn't. Ergo, I do not own Leverage, even though I think I should.**

**-O-**

**Chapter 4**

**What the Future Holds**

Nate's voice was muted and tinny as he spoke over the wire. "Everybody ready?"

"Roger that!" Eliot could picture Parker saluting the air.

"Yep," Hardison sounded distracted.

"Yeah," Eliot muttered.

Sophie didn't answer, so Eliot assumed she had just waved to Nate, who was supposed to be sitting across the pub, waiting to play his part. Eliot himself was seated on a park bench across the street from a dry cleaner's, his brown hair whipping back slightly in the gentle wind. His faded blue jean jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. Eliot didn't mind that as much as the jean shorts Nate had insisted he wear as part of his costume. He had protested that the mark wouldn't care whether he was wearing jeans or shorts, but Nate had insisted. And Eliot felt like he needed to do this one thing for him, even if it really didn't mean much, and didn't nearly make up for what he was going to do…

"Good, because here comes our mark."

*cue flashback, jazzy music, and blue tinted screen*

"Now, our mark, Charles, likes to stay organized. Luckily for us, he does that online," Hardison addressed the rest of the team, listening patiently from the couches. He pulled up something on the screen; a list of activities, most having something to do with business. There were also two psychic readings scheduled, as Hardison duly pointed out. "Now, I can just change-" he paused, typing something in his computer. "-the name, and address of this one psychic reading."

*end flashback*

"Why hello there, you must be Charles Schulz," Sophie's voice took on a subtle New Yorker accent.

"That'd be me. And you're Miss Evangaline?" Schulz's voice was quieter, his voice barely reaching Sophie's wire.

"Yes. So what will it be today? Future readings? Communication with the dearly departed?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to get to know you and your work a little first. Gotta make sure I'm paying for the best, you know what I mean?" Schulz's voice was louder now, he'd sat down. He let out a small chuckle, and Sophie turned a scoff into a noise of agreement.

"Of course," she paused. Eliot waited anxiously. This was the one thing they hadn't discussed beforehand. "I'm one of the few… gifted ones. I was born with these powers, and I've been working to hone them ever since I was ten."

"Well, that's quite impressive, but it wasn't the answer I was looking for-"

Eliot tensed. If this guy got up and left, the whole con was over. He'd be a dead man by morning

"Wait a moment, Mr. Schulz."

"That's it, Sophie. Reel him back in," Nate's voice was calm and controlled. Eliot knew that he had complete faith in Sophie's abilities.

"Tell you what, I'll do your first reading for free. If you like it, you come back and pay full price." A seductive tone slid into Sophie's voice.

From the long pause that followed, Eliot guessed that the mark was considering. Whatever he said next was lost on Eliot, though. The hitter had frozen in place, trying to hold back a swallow as the man slide into the empty spot on the bench next to Eliot. Suddenly Eliot wished that he had sat in the bench on the other side of the tree, in the open. This one was partially hidden by the dense foliage.

"How's it going, Eliot?" Torak's voice was venomously sweet. His breath smelled of used cigarettes, and Eliot used all his willpower not to flinch away.

"Eliot?" Nate's voice, over the wire. He must have heard Torak's voice.

"I'm fine, Nate," Eliot pulled the wire out of his ear and shoved it in the pocket of his shorts. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you with my bare hands right now."

"I've got several snipers positioned at various angles. You make any sudden, uncalled for movements, bang," Torak shrugged. "You should know I leave nothing to chance."

"Yeah, well you should know I always finish the job."

"I know that. But my client's becoming impatient. He wants it done, _now_."

"I'm working on it!" Eliot hissed.

"Not fast enough. You have until tomorrow evening." Torak started to get up.

Eliot watched him leave, letting out a shaky breath. Tomorrow evening! That was impossible. Torak hadn't pulled a gun on him, but he may as well have. Up until now, Eliot had held onto the belief that he would find a loophole in the situation. His hopes diminished as he realized, of course not. Torak left no loopholes. Banging his head against the bench, Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. Steeling himself, he reached into his pocket and put the wire back in his ear.

"-dry cleaning. Now they're telling me… they're showing me an image." Sophie paused, completely focused in playing her character. "A car… a blue sedan…"

"That's my car!" Schulz shouted.

"'Dead, dead'. The spirits keep repeating the word 'dead'. There's a picture of keys, turning in the ignition. A shout. A door slam… Pavement. Something about a hill… 'Watch you're back'! You can't hear their warning, you…" Sophie sucked in a breath. Eliot could imagine her pulling her hand away from the mark's.

"What? What'd you see?"

"I… I can't… can't see…" Sophie's breathing was ragged. "I've… I've lost my connection."

There was a pause, then,

"That's BS! I don't believe a word of it."

"But, it's the truth! It's what the future holds for you!"

"Tell you what," Schulz made no attempt to conceal the anger in his voice. "If you're right, I'll come back and pay full price," his voice clearly said that he didn't believe a word of it, and wasn't expecting to have to pay full price.

"Hmph," Sophie muttered, back to her normal self. Presumably, the mark had left.

"Okay, looks like we're gonna have to play up our performances," Nate didn't sound worried, and suddenly Eliot found that infuriating. He always expected everything to go right! They could very easily lose the mark, and then what would Eliot do?

A chuckle to his left startled him. He looked into Torak's challenging gaze, realizing the man had never left at all. Torak raised an eyebrow, as if challenging Eliot to change his mind about the job, and knowing he wouldn't.

At that moment, Eliot hated himself more than he ever had in his life.

-O-

**Yeah, so, this wasn't my best chapter ever. But I've been getting some really great ideas for new stories, and I can't wait to start them, so I'm trying to wrap up this story somewhat quickly...**

**So, I'm facing a dilemma. None of my friends watch Leverage, sadly, so even though they can give pointers on things like grammar, they can't give ideas and answer my Leverage-related questions. So, I've decided to hold a contest: Whoever leaves the longest review for this chapter will become my "consultant". So get writing! ;)**


	5. Warning Signs

**Soooo….. sorry for the late update! I had this sitting half done on my computer and then I didn't have any free time whatsoever to finish it. And then, probably as a result of being so busy, I got sick. Yes, ?I know, sitting at home on the couch seems like the perfect time to finish a chapter, only I couldn't really move without, erm, being sick. Soo, anyway… I'll address several more things in an author's note at the bottom, such as the winner of the contest. So, read on!**

**Disclaimer: I really wish I owned Leverage. But, sadly, I do not.**

**Chapter 5**

**Warning Signs**

Eliot swallowed and turned his head away from Torak's grinning face, not knowing what he would have said even is he hadn't had a wire.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Nate's overly drunken voice blasted in Eliot's ear. The next phase of the con had begun, and Nate had just spilled his beer all over Charles Schulz's jacket. "Here, let me get that…"

"Dammit!" Schulz was even louder than Nate. "No, no! Don't touch that!" Presumably, Nate had just made things worse.

"Okay, so-rry!" There was a pause, then, "The mark is on the move. Parker, Eliot, be ready."

Grunting, Eliot glanced over at Torak, only to find that the man was no where to be seen. _Good riddance_, Eliot thought.

-O-

Eliot watched as the blue sedan rolled into the parking lot across the street. It was gleaming in the sunlight, not a speck of dust on it. The driver's door opened and Schulz stepped out. Even from across the street Eliot could see that the brown stain had spread across the entire front of his shirt. He suppressed a chuckle as the mark visibly stomped all the way into the dry cleaner's, the door slamming with more of a crack than a thud behind him.

Almost immediately, a slim figure slipped silently out of the bushes, blonde hair held up loosely in a ponytail that was bouncing as she ran. There was a slight cluck of annoyance as she reached the car.

"What an old model. You'd think, for a millionaire, he'd have a better car," the door to the driver's side popped open.

"Isn't that a good thing? Easier to break into?" Hardison inquired.

"Yeah, but it's not as much fun!"

Eliot shook his head. "Just hurry up!"

"Just hurry up!" Parker's voice was mocking. "It took me five seconds to break into this car. What do you _think_ I'm doing?"

The front trunk of the car popped open, and there was a very girlish giggle from Parker. Eliot watched in quiet amusement as she skipped around to the front and bent over, gloved fingers running over the different parts.

"Hmm… this looks important!" Her hand flung backwards in an exaggerated motion, several thick black wires clutched in it.

"Remember, Parker, we don't want to destroy the car, we only want to impair it," Nate's voice was slightly exasperated, as if he already knew what her answer would be.

"Uh… too late!" Parker threw the wires into the bushes with one, jerking motion. At the same moment, the door to the dry cleaner's opened. Schulz walked out, his jacket buttoned up to hide his lack of shirt.

"Parker!" Eliot hissed a warning, his hand automatically flying up to the wire in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, on it!" Parker jerked her black sweater off with one fluid motion, and it landed in a small heap near the bushes, causing them to rustle slightly. Underneath she wore a tight-fitting blue blouse. Eliot couldn't see it from where he was sitting, but he knew that there was a large red-brown stain splattered across the front. Parker pulled a pair of boxy glasses from her pocket and shoved them on her face, and strode forward, muttering something about death under her breath as she brushed by Schulz.

Eliot's smirk was slowly replaced with a frown as he watched Parker skirt around to the side of the building. What would she do, what would any of them do, without a hitter? Because there was no way Eliot was going to be able to stay in the team, not after what he planned to do. He'd accepted that, mostly. But, watching Parker, he realized he couldn't leave the team without someone to protect them. No one else was a good fighter, certainly not Nate, who'd taken more punches than any of them combined… minus Eliot, anyway. He thought about becoming a shadow, protecting them from the sidelines, but he didn't know if he'd be able to bear watching the result of his actions. And, they'd probably rat him out soon enough. They weren't called the best in the business for nothing.

"Eliot! You're up!" Parker whisper-yelled in his ear. Eliot shook his head slightly, focusing back on the con. Years of practice made it easy for him to clear his mind.

Scanning the area once for Torak and his men, Eliot stood up. He had to grab the rail of the bench for support, shaking slightly as he gathered his footing on the roller blades. There was a door slam, and Schulz stormed away from his car, phone pressed against his ear.

Eliot rolled slowly towards the mark, sure to avoid any cracks in the pavement. He began to pick up speed, pumping his blades with faster rhythm as he rolled down the small hill towards the parking lot exit.

"Look out! Hey! Watch out!" Eliot cupped his hands around his mouth as though he was yelling, but in reality he was just talking in a normal voice. He chuckled, and proceeded to roll straight into Schulz.

Schulz was knocked off his feet, falling on his side with a thump and a curse. Eliot slid several more feet, his arms swaying wildly, before falling on his rear and letting out an audible "Oomph".

"What the hell-" Schulz was sitting up, his hand going to his arm in a reflexive motion.

"Hey, I'm real sorry 'bout that," Eliot was skating back over to Schulz. "You need help getting up?"

Schulz looked at him incredulously. "No, I do not need help!" He rose, hand still clutching his arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your arm? Want me to take a look at it? I'm real good with that kind of thing," Eliot held out a hand.

"Wha… No! No! It's fine! Look where you're going next time, dumb hick," Schulz started to walk away.

"Geez, I said I was sorry. Maybe you should watch your back more carefully, and this won't happen next time."

Schulz paused. "What did you say?"

"I said I was sorry."

"No, after that."

"I told you to watch your back."

-O-

"Nice place you got here," Eliot jumped at the sound of Parker's voice, and he dropped the pan he was holding. Swearing, he bent down to pick it up.

"Geez, Parker! Don't _do_ that! I thought I told you to knock!"

"You did," she shrugged. "I never pegged you as a house type of guy," her words were directed towards Eliot, but her gaze was darting all around the spacious room. It was one of those open rooms, the kitchen located in the near corner, with Eliot standing at the granite-topped island; the living room separated by a small step and furnished with a plush-looking leather couch and recliner that still looked as if they had just been unloaded. A brightly lit chandelier hung high above their heads, lighting the ground floor as well as the second floor in-house balcony with polished wooden rails. Carpeted stairs rose up to meet it, twisting slightly at the top. On the ground floor, behind the stairs, was a door that stood slightly ajar. Peeking through it, Parker could just make out a set of weights lined up against the opposite wall.

"Yeah, well, houses have more room. More exits, more room for a fight, more room to hide."

"I never pegged you as a hiding type of guy."

Eliot ignored her. The microwave let out a high-pitched shout, and the door popped open automatically. Eliot set the pan on the table and grabbed the paper plate out of the microwave.

"What's that?" Parker had appeared at his side, and was referring to the pile of little round, tan-colored pasta on his plate.

"Dammit, Parker!" Eliot started to the side, nearly dropping the plate. "It's couscous, it's good for you."

"Well, it doesn't look very appetizing." She plunked herself in one of the barstools and leaned forward on her elbows, the sleeves of her gray t-shirt brushing the edge of the counter. "So, who was that man you were talking to earlier?"

Eliot froze. Slowly he lowered his plate to the counter. Forcing a chuckle, he asked, "What man?"

"The one sitting next to you on the park bench."

"Oh, him… uh, he, uh, just wanted directions to the best restaurant in town."

"Then why did you take your wire out when you were talking to him?"

"You really are full of questions, aren't you? Why were you spying on me in the first place, huh?"

Just then, the doorbell rang. One single, chiming note, followed by a repeated, insistent ringing.

"Yo! Eliot, open up, man!" Hardison's voice was muted by the bulletproof, tainted glass door.

"Didn't your nana ever teach you to be patient?" Eliot made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice as he opened the front door.

Hardison let out an appreciative whistle as he took in Eliot's house. "Man, you weren't lying when you said you didn't have a TV."

"So, why are we here?" Parker asked as she put a spoonful of the couscous in her mouth – and presently spit it out.

"I'm gonna teach you how to fight," Eliot threw casually over his shoulder as he disappeared into the room Parker had seen before.

Hardison exchanged a confused glance with Parker. "Wait, what?" He ran after Eliot, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"I'm gonna teach you how to fight," Eliot had tied his hair back in a ponytail, and taken off his jacket. His muscles bulged underneath his tight-fitting blue top.

"U-huh…. why?" Hardison was eyeballing the set of weights nervously.

"Because," Eliot threw his jacket to the ground. "Someday you're gonna need to know how. Someday I might not be here to do it for you."

"Oh, no man, don't go talking all negative like that!" Hardison shook his head.

Parker stepped forward, brushing past the hacker. "Alright, what's first?"

"Thank you, Parker. You see that, Hardison? That's how you show interest. Now, first thing's first…"

-O-

**So I was just watching the first episode of Leverage, and Parker sounds a lot different than she does in the newer episodes, and her character is kind of off as well. It was… interesting. Just though I'd let y'all know. Oh, and I'm very excited! I was watching The Miracle Job, and I found out that Eliot has a sibling! How do I know this? He says "my **_**nephew**_** would like this". :)**

**Without further ado, the winner of the contest is Trapper Creek Kaniac! :)**

**Give me an R! "R" Give me an E! "E" Give me a V! "V" Give me an I! "I" Give me an E! "E" Give me a W! "U"…. No, I said **_**double**_**-u. "W!" What does that spell? "REVIEW!"**

**Want to become a cheerleader for the review button? It's very worthwhile and gives you an inner sense of accomplishment and pride. And all you have to do is press that button and write a short little note about this story. So, what are you waiting for?**


	6. This Is Why I Hate Guns

**I figured I owed you guys another chapter, to make up for not updating for more than a week. So, this story is wrapping up quickly! Only one more chapter to go after this one! So, don't let me take up any more of your time, read on!**

**Oh, one more thing. Disclaimer: You don't know by now? Really? Let me spell this out for you. I. Do. Not. Own. Leverage.**

**Chapter Six**

**This Is Why I Hate Guns**

**11:00 A.M.**

The harsh beeping of his cell phone was what cut short his sleep that morning. Not the sunlight, pouring in through his open curtains, not even the alarm on his watch, the one that had gone off over an hour ago. He sat up, propping himself up with aching arms. Blinking in the bright, intruding sunlight, he shook his head, effectively waking himself up.

The phone was still beeping insistently, piercing into his mind and leaving a dull throbbing when it left. Annoyed, he snatched it off the dresser and pressed the "on" button, much more fiercely than needed.

"What?"

"You're late." It was Nate.

"What?"

"You're _late_, Eliot."

Eliot glanced at his watch and swore. "Damn, Nate, I oversl…" Eliot's voice faded away as he frowned, his gaze caught by the light swimming on the carpet.

"Eliot?"

"Lemme call you back," Eliot snapped the phone shut, and slid off his bed, slowly drawing closer to the curtains.

Curtains he'd been sure to shut last night.

There was a low chuckle from behind him.

"Torak," Eliot hissed, spinning around.

"You gonna buy a new house, now, Eliot?" Torak's silver tooth gleamed in his mouth as he smirked.

Eliot folded his arms.

"You have one day left, and you haven't delivered either of the things I asked for. This is your final reminder."

"Thanks, but no thanks. What, you think I'd forget that? Now, get. out. of. my. house," Eliot fought to keep his voice calm.

As Torak backed out of the room, chuckling, Eliot lowered himself to his bed, his head descending into his hands. He couldn't do this. He couldn't…

His phone rang again, muffled by the sheets tossed on top of it.

"Nate, I'm on my way."

-O-

**11:30 A.M.**

"Good to see you, Eliot," Nate didn't look up as the door slammed behind the retrieval specialist.

"Sophie done yet?"

"Uh, almost, yeah. She, uh, she told Schulz-" he reached over to hand Eliot a wire, "-that his money would be stolen at 12:30, which leaves him… an hour to move it."

"And how do we know that this guy'll go to the right bank?" Eliot asked as he disappeared around the corner.

"Linguistic programming," Nate bent over to pick up his glass of wine.

"Ah, right, her special psychic powers," Eliot reappeared, his hands busy buttoning up the suit he had donned.

"Yes, those," Sophie's voice sounded over the wire. "Schulz just left. He seemed in quite a hurry… wonder why," she scoffed. "Eliot, you better be on your way to the bank."

"Yeah, I'm on it."

-O-

**12:17 P.M.**

"Hey there, what can I do for you?" Eliot gave a broad smile from behind the counter. Around him, other bank employees were either busy attending to other costumers' needs, or busy playing solitaire. He looked up from his computer into Shulz's suspicious eyes. "Oh, hey! I recognize you! I ran into on my roller blades the other day!"

It was clear that Schulz didn't register the information. "Yeah, okay. Whatever. I need access to my safe."

"Oh, you already _have a safe here_?" Eliot gritted his teeth, his question aimed at Hardison rather than the mark.

"How was I supposed to know? The bank doesn't keep files like that on the computer!"

"Uh, yeah. My name's Charles Schulz. Hello-o?"

"Right, right. Lemme just… check this… and… ah, here we go. Here's your key. Now, I'll just escort you to your safe."

"No, I know where they are," Schulz went to grab the key, but Eliot held it away.

"Hey, I don't write the rules, sorry," Eliot shrugged, giving another apologetic smile.

-O-

**12:25 P.M.**

"Alright, here it is," Eliot tapped on the box, and stepped away to allow Schulz room.

He cleared his throat and looked away, his gaze sliding aimlessly around the small room. It was simply designed, with small, 8"x11" boxes lining the walls; Parker could probably clean the place out in under a minute. Only, Eliot cringed inwardly to think of it, she wouldn't have the chance.

"Hey! What the- My briefcase is empty!"

*flashback*

_Schulz stood at the counter, talking to Eliot. His briefcase was perched at his feet, completely vulnerable. He didn't even notice when the figure, dressed as another bank employee, walked by with an identical briefcase and smoothly switched it with the one at the mark's feet._

*end flashback*

"What?" Parker.

"What?" Nate.

"What?" Sophie.

"Wait, what?" Hardison.

"Uh, excuse me?" Eliot.

"My briefcase. With the money. It's empty!" Schulz swore, loudly, several times.

"Well, I guess that means I'm not breaking into the bank. Hid in the bushes again for nothing," Parker sighed. Eliot winced visibly.

-O-

**2:43 P.M.**

Eliot stood at the corner of the long-deserted street, briefcase in hand. He glanced down nervously to make sure that his hand was steady.

A black sedan rolled ominously around the corner and came to a stop next to the hitter. Eliot squinted as the back door opened slowly, and the man that was Torak stepped out. Eliot avoided his eyes as he handed over the briefcase full of the mark's money to his former boss.

"Good," Torak smiled upon examination of the contents. "Now, about the other matter…"

-O-

**6:14 P.M.**

The entire leverage team sat around a polished wooden table in McRory's pub. Their's were the only voices to be heard in the pub, and even so they were still somewhat soft. Hardison, as the landlord, had cleared out the pub several minutes earlier, per Nate's command. He had protested, saying that he needed his monitors to figure out what was going on, but Nate had overruled him by arguing that his apartment was too muddled with dirty dishes and empty orange soda bottles to be a safe environment. He had also ordered Hardison to clean it all up after the con was finished.

"So, where do you think his money went?" Parker asked, leaning in.

"Do you think he realized we were conning him?" Sophie asked.

"And brought an empty briefcase to fool us? No." Nate shook his head, slamming his beer glass on the table. "He's not that smart."

"Yeah, the guy makes decisions based on fortune tellers and fortune cookies," Hardison scoffed, touching his chin.

"Huh," Parker sat back in her chair.

"What?" Nate looked at her expectantly.

"It hasn't been 2.5 minutes since Hardison touched his chin. It's only been 1.5," Hardison's hand left his face immediately, causing Parker to chuckle.

"Ok, come on, focus," Nate sighed, reaching for his beer again.

Eliot glanced at the clock. He swallowed and wrung his hands out. "Nate," his voice came out shakier than he had expected. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nate, can I, uh… speak to you? P-privately?"

Nate looked quizzically at Eliot, as did the rest of the team. The retrieval specialist _never_ stuttered, or had to repeat himself. "Uh, sure, Eliot, sure," he rose from his chair. When Eliot didn't he asked, "You coming?"

"Oh, yeah," Eliot let out a nervous chuckle and stood up, following Nate into the side room once used by Nate's father, now empty save for a few chairs stacked on top of a sole table in the middle of the room.

Nate held the door for Eliot. Eliot walked in ahead, looking down as Nate closed the door behind them.

"So, what's all this about…" Nate's voice faded away and his brow wrinkled as he turned around.

And stared past the barrel of the gun to Eliot.

A cold sweat had broken out on Eliot's brow as he clutched the gun, weighed down by the silencer screwed onto the front. He swallowed, gauging Nate's reaction.

"Eliot, what…?" Nate's arms rose slightly as he stepped further into the room.

"_Don't_… come any closer," Eliot braced the gun with his other hand, careful to stay the right distance away from Nate.

Nate's face was grim. He opened his mouth, closed it, and squinted at Eliot. "You… you stole the money, didn't you? The mark's money?"

Eliot grimaced. "Yeah."

Nate lowered his arms slightly, sliding subtly closer to the table. "…Why?"

Eliot tensed. He couldn't do this. But if he didn't, he'd die. _I'm such a _coward!

"Look, Nate, do me a favor and act like I have a choice, okay?" Eliot's voice was tense, and slightly wobbly.

"Nate!" Parker burst into the room, a broad smile on her face. "Sophie figured… it out…" she stopped, taking in the scene with shock. "E-Eliot?"

"Parker…" Nate and Eliot sighed in unison.

"Parker, get out of here!" Eliot growled, unwilling to take his gaze off of Nate's frozen form.

"No, I… What are you doing?" She stepped closer to Nate, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Parker…" Eliot tensed his grip on the gun.

"I though you didn't… like guns…" Parker brought her shoulders up in a defensive motion.

Eliot didn't answer.

Parker looked from Nate to Eliot, her ponytail swishing with the movement. She was breathing heavily, even for her. Without warning, she sprinted forward, skidding to a halt in front of Nate. She spread out her arms, closing her eyes in a sadistic motion.

"Parker…" Nate let out a sigh.

"Parker, move!" Eliot's face scrunched in frustration.

Parker pursed her lips nervously. "N-no," her voice was faint, but determined.

Eliot swallowed, breathing heavily. His forehead was slick with sweat, and he reached up to wipe it off with his sleeve. He swallowed a second time, adjusting his grip on the gun handle.

And fired.

-O-

**So, how's that for a cliffhanger? You've got to review, how can you not review that? REVIEW!**


	7. Empty Graves

**The last chapter is here! But don't worry, I'm not done! You can read more about what I plan to write next at the bottom of the page.**

**Quote of the Day: "No, Parker, sleeping is not a hobby." ~ Nate**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage. I own Leverege. Except, I don't, because that's probably a company name somewhere. I do not own Leverege, either. Sigh.**

**Chapter 7**

**Empty Graves**

Everybody always describes the world as "going black" or "fading away". They always talk about how they don't remember anything that happened after the initial impact. All _they_ can talk about is the pain, physical pain that they felt for less than a second before the bullet renders them unconscious. It wasn't that way for him.

As the bullet dove into him, tore into his flesh, he did feel pain. But the world didn't fade to black. Why hadn't it faded to black? It should have faded to black. Instead, he watched as they crowded around him, their faces obscured, blurred slightly by something. Their mouths were opening, closing, words rolling off their tongues and reaching his ears as faint whispers. The physical pain wasn't that bad, or was it? Was something jamming the signals to his brain, dulling the pain? He could still see. Shouldn't he have blacked out by now? What was wrong? They were moving, rapidly, before his eyes, but he couldn't make sense of their movements. He stared, uncomprehendingly, watching them with more and more detachment. The movement began to stop registering in his brain. He saw, without seeing.

Every so often, the images would make sense. But even then, he didn't know if they were real. A glimpse of flashing lights, radiating light that was too bright to tolerate. But he didn't dare shut his eyes, for fear that they wouldn't open again. The pain had long since dissipated; his brain was beyond comprehending something that complicated.

He saw faces, hidden by white masks. For their protection, or his own? Several times he thought he saw her out of the corner of his eye, lying on the gurney next to him. He hoped that was one of his hallucinations. There were voices, low and humming in his ear. Once he thought he heard a voice, calling out to him. The voice was very familiar, and yet not right in this setting. He fought to place it, and then the ambulance went over a speed bump and it was gone.

He drifted, in and out of the dreamlike state, for a while. Images piling up in his brain, seen but unseen, until finally, finally, he was lulled into unconsciousness.

-O-

He dreamed that he was at a graveyard. The sun was setting, casting its tired glow across the rows of charcoal-colored headstones, making their shadows seem long and exaggerated against the grass. An earthen smell rose to his nostrils, complete with the smell of damp air and mildew. It had a thick consistency, like fog, and yet the space before him was clear.

Only now did he realize that he was standing beside a gravestone. It was rather small, but it looked new, and untouched by time that had already passed for so many of the others. It was jaggedly cut, as though whoever made it had been in a hurry to end his day at the shop. The color was a dull gray, unlike some of the others, which were cast with a shiny granite face. No, this one was just rock.

He knelt down, trying to get a better view on what was written on the headstone. There was nothing. The grass brushed against his pants as he leaned closer, confused. Why would someone not put a name on their headstone? Unless… unless it was waiting for someone.

-O-

Slowly, he started to come back. His sense of touch, that was the first thing. The scratchy blankets that enclosed his body, trapping any heat that tried to escape. The cold metal of a railing when he turned too far to the side. The occasional, gentle touch of someone's hand to his. The ache that was his chest.

Hearing was next. At first it was just phrases of whispered conversation, meaningless words that he didn't really pay attention to. But sometimes he was able to make out whole sentences, sometimes entire conversations.

"I don't know what came over him." That was the sentence he heard the most.

"Is he gonna die?"

"No, Parker, he's not going to die." So Parker was okay.

"But he almost died, right?"

"Parker."

"Why would he do something like this?" That was the conversation he heard the most.

And then, eventually, the voices would die off, and the door would slam, and the only thing keeping him company would be the ticking of what he assumed was a clock, and the quiet, rhythmic beeping of a heart rate monitor. Occasionally, one of them would stay after all of the others had left. He didn't know who, because they never spoke, but he could hear their footsteps walking back over, and the insignificant sigh of the chair as a body was lowered into it. When he slept, he visited the cemetery. Night after night, he'd find himself standing by that one grave.

Finally, his sight returned, and with it, his voice. The first thing he saw was light. Harsh, brutally intruding light. He'd had to squeeze his eyes shut fiercely. Once his eyes had been reacquainted with the light, he had realized that it had only been a small sliver peaking in through the blinds on the window. That first day, he hadn't been able to make out much. His lids were still heavy and coated with sleep, so he could only open them a sliver. Not even enough to make them notice that he was awake. He watched them, their blurred figures, move about the room. Sometime they would leave, and in their place would be unfamiliar people, dressed in pastel green scrubs. Nurses?

The second day after his sight had returned, he found he was able to fully open his eyes. He did so, but was dismayed when all he saw was the darkness of his room. The heart rate monitor had sped up, and a nurse had come rushing in. He had tried to sit up, but she had placed a firm hand on his arm, careful not to bump his chest, and told him to stay put, lest the stitches come undone.

He'd listened to her, but only because his wound had started to ache again. They say that it takes a while to regain your memory after an event like that, but he remembered. He remembered everything perfectly, and he wished he didn't. When that didn't work, he wished to visit the graveyard again, if only to take his mind off of that evening. That didn't work either. He guessed that his body had had enough rest.

-O-

He opened his eyes to sunlight. Apparently his body had needed more rest, after all. But he couldn't remember going to the graveyard. Why was that? Thinking too hard made his brain physically ache, so he just shook his head and decided to not care. Instead, he took in his surroundings for the first time.

It was a hospital, all right. The walls were white-washed, and the floor was white tile with little flecks of gray thrown in every now and then. The window blinds were white as well. So much white, it was giving him a headache. Several IV drips were lined up next to his bed, their plastic tubs running all the way from the pouches to his arms. He felt like an idiot, he wanted to rip them out and be done with it. But he couldn't, because the nurses would just reprimand him and then stick them right back in.

Two figures sat in the armchairs against the window. He recognized them immediately. Parker, with her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn that night. He cringed to see her, guilt racking his body. She was asleep, her head resting on the shoulder of the woman sitting beside her. Sophie Deveroux was awake, although she hadn't seemed to notice that he was as well, or didn't care. Her hair fell perfectly, as usual. She had changed, but she hadn't bothered with makeup, he noticed.

She caught sight of his open eyes. Studying him for a moment, she stood up slowly, careful not to disturb the thief. She walked over to his bed, her steps precise, her mouth forming a tight line.

"Sophie," he knew she distrusted him now.

She gave a tight nod. "Eliot. You're awake."

The doors to the room opened, and Nate appeared around the corner. He was carrying a cup of coffee in one hand, but he stopped short when he saw that Eliot was awake. He glanced at Sophie and placed the coffee on the small table next to the bed. As he beckoned her to the corner of the room, near the door so as not to disturb Parker, Eliot sighed. Then winced, as his chest sent a signal of sharp pain to his brain.

He was afraid of death. He'd been afraid of death… until his family had been threatened. Because that's how he thought of the team. They were his family. He trusted them. They trusted him… or used to.

A door slam made him look up. Sophie was gone, and Nate was frowning at Eliot.

"She hates me." Eliot said matter-of-factly.

"Nah… well…" Nate picked up his coffee cup.

"Nate, I'm sorry, man."

"The bullet missed all important organs and arteries," Nate ignored Eliot. "You're lucky."

"Really? Then why don't I feel lucky?"

"How'd you do it?" Nate spoke over him again, pointedly.

"What, miss my heart?"

"_Why_'d you do it? All of it."

Eliot sighed, gentler this time so as not to hurt his chest. "My old boss-"

"Blackmailed you, I know. And I don't blame you," It was Nate's turn to let out a sigh.

"You should. I do."

"And I'm not going to tell you not to. It was probably your fault, but I don't blame you," Nate slowed down the words for emphasis. "What I want to know is how you pulled off running a con… on _me_."

Eliot watched as Nate gave him a small smile, and then returned one of his one. "I do have other contacts, besides you guys, you know." he paused. "Charles Schulz really is a corrupt business owner. That story was true."

"So, then what wasn't true?"

Eliot took a moment to organize his thoughts; his brain was still somewhat disconnected from the world. "The client wasn't related to the man in the trucker accident."

"Figures."

"When the mark was at the bank, asking for his key, I had my contact switch the briefcases." Eliot attempted a shrug, and winced when it was too painful. "Nate, you know Torak's gonna come after you now."

Nate let out a chuckle at that, and Eliot looked up in surprise. "No, no, I doubt that."

"What?"

"It turns out _Torak_ is on the FBI's most wanted list. So, I gave them an anonymous tip that he was having dinner at K & J's."

Eliot didn't even bother to ask how Nate had found this information. Instead, he smiled and shook his head. "The 'best restaurant in the city'," Parker was beginning to stir as Eliot added, "Their food's terrible."

-O-

**Yeah, I know. Lame-o ending. But was the rest of the chapter okay? tell me in a review!**

**My next story will probably just be a short little thing about the notes Parker supposedly takes of the team in The Underground Job. I have another longish story idea, but I'm not going to start that yet. I will also probably be working off and on, on a collection of HardisonxParker oneshots.**


	8. A Good Start

**Were you surprised when you logged onto your email and found another chapter alert for this story? Believe me, I was, too. Thanks to ardnaseel, though, for making me realize that I still had many loose ends to tie up. I owe you one! :) **

**-O-**

**Chapter 8**

**A Good Start**

The next several days were spent mostly in sleep. When he was awake, the only one who would actually make an attempt to keep conversation going was Nate. It never worked though, Sophie would always leave the room, Parker would pretend to be asleep, and Hardison – when he was there – would just ignore them. Eventually even Nate left him alone, but whether it was because he sensed Eliot needed space or that he was also upset at the hitter, Eliot did not know.

The weight of what he had done, what he had nearly done, began to creep up on him. The first few days, he had been too heavily medicated to do much but answer the simple questions the doctors and nurses asked him. It was clear that they thought he was depressed. They were too gentle, too close-mouthed when they spoke to him. At night, when they assumed he was asleep, he would hear them whispering about rehab. One nurse even went so far as to call him "mentally unstable". If only they knew the truth.

It was his fault. His fault that Torak had found him in the first place, his fault that he had been so weak. If he had been more careful, more watchful of his actions. If he hadn't been a coward, where would everyone be now? On another job, pursuing another mark? They sure as hell wouldn't be stuck in this little white room, wondering if they would ever be able to trust the retrieval specialist again. It was his fault that they were all in here, even if they weren't the ones lying in the hospital beds.

He couldn't blame them for ignoring him, but half of him wished they wouldn't. He still thought of them as his family, still trusted them, even though they probably no longer returned the favor. It hurt him to see the looks of mistrust and betrayal in their eyes when they looked at him. They still blamed him, even after he had turned the gun on himself. He wished they would talk to him, not leave it to Nate, even if it was only to yell at him.

It was on the fourth day after his awakening that his wish came true. Nate and Sophie had gone to the cafeteria for lunch, and Hardison hadn't even shown up that day. Parker was left alone in the armchair under the window, which had become her new favorite perch. After several moments spent in awkward silence, she had spoken.

"I know why you did it."

The words startled Eliot, he'd been expecting another silent afternoon. He looked over at her, but didn't speak.

"The question is, do you know why you did it?"

Eliot blinked; surprised to hear such well-spoken words come out of her.

"Do you trust me, Parker?" Eliot asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I'm talking to you," the thief shrugged.

"No, then," he watched her reaction. She looked away. "Parker, I owe you an apology," his voice was quiet, unsure of how she would take it.

She didn't move, didn't look at him. Her lower lip pulled slightly inward. "They still care about you," she said after several minutes had passed.

Eliot opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she had already assumed her sleeping position.

-O-

Eliot couldn't sleep. His mind was still revolving around those five words from Parker, trying to make sense of what the thief had meant. Being cryptic was normal for her, but Eliot had a feeling that he was missing a more obvious meaning. _They still care about you_. Did she mean to say that the team cared whether or not he lived? Why should they, with what he had done to betray them? They sure didn't act like they cared. _They still care about you_. They, not we. Was that Parker's way of telling him that she was angry with him, that she honestly didn't care?

When he finally slept, he visited the graveyard again. But this time, there was no grave. Only a gigantic hole, a gaping wound in the earth. Something that only time would heal.

-O-

The door slammed open, signaling the beginning of the fifth day. Eliot expected more nurses to come in and take his pulse, temperature, and whatever else they did that he didn't pay attention to. So he was more than surprised, when he opened his eyes, to find Sophie standing at the foot of his bed.

"Sophie…" She looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry."

She gave a very audible, very irritable, very 'Sophie' sigh. "You think an apology is all it takes to win us over, make us trust you again? Do you have any idea what you've put them through, all of them? Nate's more drunk than ever, and yet he insists on the fact that we shouldn't blame you. Parker's distraught, but can you blame her after what you forced her to do, stepping in between you two like that? And Hardison, Hardison won't even come to the hospital unless I personally drive him here. You've betrayed us all. Look at what happened! Does that make you _happy_, Eliot? How does it make you feel?"

Eliot swallowed, knowing she was right. It was his fault, it was all his fault. He was solely responsible for this, for unraveling the team at the seams. Suddenly, with Sophie's voicing of what he had been thinking, it all became too much. He lowered his face to his hands, a position that had become quite familiar to him over the past week. "I wouldn't blame you… if you never spoke to me again," he managed to get out between shaking breaths. He would not cry, he would not cry. He hadn't cried since sixth grade, when his parents had found out he'd lied to them. It was the same now. He couldn't bear the thought that he'd hurt, betrayed, lied to the people he loved. He couldn't.

Sophie hesitated, completely thrown off balance. This was supposed to be silent, intimidating, emotionless Eliot, the way he always was. Not lamenting, small, sensitive Eliot, the way he _never_ should have been. Her expression softened, if only slightly.

"And yet they still care about you," she said it sarcastically, but her voice carried an undertone of sincerity, which the hitter immediately picked up on.

He looked up, thankful that his eyes had decided to stay dry. "They," it was more of a repetition than a question.

"All of us. Even me," she added after a pause. It earned a scoff from Eliot. "Why do you think I'm here, Eliot? Because Nate told me to come? No. I'm a grown woman, I make my own choices. Yes, I am very angry with you right now, yes I don't trust you. So why else would I, would any of us, really, choose to stay at the hospital with you? Even Hardison, who hasn't showed up only because he's horrible at expressing feelings, and thought he would make things worse."

"Thanks, Sophie. I only did-"

Sophie held up a hand. "No. I don't want an explanation, I don't want an apology. Nothing you can say will excuse your actions, Eliot."

"But it would be a good start," Nate had appeared just in time to hear the last part of their conversation. Sophie whirled her head to face him, stood for a moment, and walked promptly out of the room. Nate shrugged. "It would, you know. Tell them why," he looked around the room for emphasis. "all of this happened."

The next day, that is exactly what Eliot did.

**-O-**

**Is that a better ending? I think it is, if only slightly. Tell me what ya' think!**

**Thanks again to ardnaseel, this probably wouldn't have happened without your advice!**


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